(Fast)Forward
by Once Upon a Whim
Summary: Lucy makes a visit later that night. Post-ep for "The Lost Generation".


**Lucy makes a visit later that night. Post-ep for "The Lost Generation".**

 **Thank you, snow day.**

 **(*Logistics notes: So Wyatt got dragged away from the lifeboat in full 1980's costume. ...And showed up in his National Park cell in a dark shirt and leather jacket. I call foul - he'd still have the 80's clothes on, in all their acid-washed glory. Because logic. And because I said so. Assume it played out like that for the purposes of this one-shot. Also taking liberties with localities here... They referenced San Francisco as headquarters. There's no 30-minute true freeway drive that gets you to a true national park, and Lucy would probably live way south of there if she worked at Stanford, meaning Wyatt would have needed more than a 20 minute head-start when stealing the lifeboat... Therefore, I'm dumping them in San Fran itself, since I at least have some knowledge of the city. And pretend it was already nighttime when they met in the warehouse. Again, because I said so.)**

* * *

Lucy double checked the number she'd scribbled on a scrap of paper, shifted the bags in her hands, but then hesitated. Being there? Probably not the best idea. But after the past few days... Taking a deep breath, she stepped up and knocked on the faded green door.

A moment later, the door opened a crack at first, and then suddenly flew open, as she was grabbed by the arm and dragged inside roughly.

With a glare once he finally let go of her, Lucy groused, "Well, hi, good to see you too."

Wyatt glared right back, hissing, "You could have a tail on you."

She _had_ thought of that, but now, seeing him set down the gun he must have carried to the door with him, Lucy realized she'd probably taken the situation a bit too lightly. With a sheepish grin, she countered weakly, "I took the BART. Back and forth, extra stops. It was crowded?" She added with an apologetic shrug.

His stern expression softened a little, but Wyatt still scolded, "It's also almost midnight in the Tenderloin."

"I'm fine," she insisted; no way was she going to let on that she'd been nervous outside on her way here.

Wyatt shook his head with a sigh. "What are you even doing here? _How_ do you even know I'm here?" he inquired, with a confused expression.

"Christopher told me," Lucy admitted. She eyed his faded blue outfit and smirked. "Thought you might want to ditch the acid-wash. And some other stuff," she added, nodding down at the stuffed Target bags she still was clutching. "I know you have to lay low."

There was no response from Wyatt other than a nod that was hard to interpret, so Lucy scanned the room. Not the best neighborhood, which was why it made for a decent place for him to hide out, but the room was at least clean. Not so much on the superfluous furniture though, so with Wyatt still quiet, she moved further into the room, setting the shopping bags on the bed.

Casting another glance around the room, Lucy finally turned back to Wyatt. "And to see how you were," she added solemnly. Whatever one could consider normal for them, she hadn't seen it from him since before he'd showed up at her mother's house in the middle of the night on his way to 1983. She was worried about him. Speaking up again quietly, she offered, "I'm so sorry about Jessica."

That finally spurred a reaction. Wyatt worked his jaw tensely for a moment, then replied, his voice gravelly, "Maybe it's better this way. I'm not who she'd want to come back to anymore."

"It was an accident," Lucy protested, knowing via a recap from Rufus exactly what incident Wyatt referred to, "that guy. It's not-"

"He still died," Wyatt snapped, nostrils flaring. "And it was my fault," he finished, quieter as he sank down to sit on the end of the bed in defeat.

"But you saved those two women," Lucy pointed out in vain, knowing that it wouldn't help.

Wyatt just shook his head. "It didn't have to be like that. I don't deserve to have Jess back, even if I _could_ make it happen."

Not that she thought it was a good idea, messing with their own original timeline, but Lucy did half-wonder in the back of her mind if there wasn't some other way for him to figure out how to tweak things to keep Jessica alive. There had to be, right? "Do you really believe it's fate, the universe, God, some master plan?" She asked, referencing his sudden change in perspective earlier that day.

"She's still dead," he replied flatly, finally looking back up at her.

Lucy blinked, a bit surprised by his blunt statement. "You were the one all about choices," she reminded him. "You could-"

"And I chose to have her not be dead," Wyatt shot right back darkly, "and fate said, 'fuck you'."

Lucy's breath flew out of her in rush. Talk about blunt. With a sigh, she cautiously made her way over to perch herself next to him on the foot of the bed. Then again, she reasoned with herself, maybe he wasn't wrong, given her failed efforts back in Paris. "Yeah," she muttered, not sure to do with her hands. "I tried to get Lindbergh to change today," she explained. "Didn't work." She picked at a hangnail. "Still turned out an ass," she finished, with a soft, incredulous snort.

At least that lightened the mood. She heard a similar laugh come from Wyatt next to her, and when she lifted her head to look at him, he just cocked his eyebrow at her confirmation of his words. "See?"

Lucy shrugged with a wan smile, watching absently as Wyatt turned on the bed to the shopping bags, dumping one out into a small pile of shirts and jeans, along with a handful of toiletries. What if this whole mess really was all fated somehow? "That doesn't bode well for me being part of Rittenhouse, if that's fate."

Wyatt dropped the clothes immediately to focus on her. "That's not the-"

"Isn't it?" Lucy challenged, cutting him off. "My fate, my blood? It's what happens to everyone else! I'm a Cahill!"

He scoffed, "Your father doesn't dictate your future. That's bullshit."

Well, she certainly hoped so, even if she didn't believe it. "Maybe..." she allowed, but then added, "My mother gave me the journal today."

"The jour-" Wyatt started before his eyes went wide with understanding. "The one that Flynn has?"

Lucy nodded tersely. "Yup."

"Don't write it," he declared.

"But I already _did,_ " she insisted. "He _has_ it."

Wyatt shook his head, unaccepting. "Different you."

"Still me," she countered.

"It's not," Wyatt replied, his tone sharp. "It's the you with no sister. It's the you who got engaged to the guy you don't even know."

Lucy shrugged, feeling defeated. She certainly wasn't going to write anything, but it was already written. It didn't matter, and at this point, she was starting to wonder if anything any of them did mattered. Flynn was still Flynn, Rittenhouse was still Rittenhouse. She flopped backwards on the bed, closing her eyes against the stress headache that was starting to threaten. "I just want to go back to before... everything..."

"No shit," Wyatt echoed from where he still sat at the end of the bed. After a few beats she heard him chuckle. "But you'd never have met me," he teased, nudging her leg. "Ma'am."

She let out a soft snort of laughter. It was good to hear him tease her, to joke, even with everything going on. It was reassuring, knowing he was ok. Pulling herself to a sitting position again, she looked at him with a half smile. "I should go," she said. "I wanted to see how you were, not mope around and make it worse."

His swift reply of "Nope" took Lucy by surprise.

"What?" she asked, confused.

And the joking tone was gone. "I wasn't kidding before," Wyatt replied gravely. "My job is to protect you. And there's no point in doing it in 17-, 18-, 19-whatever year," he rambled, "if you're just going to go out and get jumped now, in San Francisco, in the middle of the night on some random Tuesday in 2017." He punctuated it with a pointed glare.

Lucy argued plaintively, "I'll be fi-"

Wyatt was having none of it. "Lucy, I'm serious," he insisted.

She sighed, exasperated. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Staying with him? It was a little too... too _something_ that she couldn't quite describe. But she'd seen enough of Wyatt before to know that he wasn't backing down. "Alright," she relented, giving in. She looked around at her home for the night, realization dawning. "... and now I'm the one without any stuff."

"You bought half the store," he teased, dismissing her observation with a nod toward where he'd already dumped one bag out behind him on the bed. "Including..." he added, scanning the pile and plucking something out, "a _two_ -pack of toothbrushes." He waved them in front of her. "Purple or blue?"

Lucy smiled in spite of herself. "Blue."

He proceeded to unceremoniously rip apart the package, tossing the blue brush onto her lap a moment later. She toyed with it, trying to ignore the little flutter building in her stomach.

"Seriously?" Wyatt's voice brought her out of her toothbrush daze, and she looked up to see him displaying a pair of pale blue pajama pants laden with hockey-playing, scarf-wearing polar bears.

Lucy smirked. She'd forgotten she'd grabbed those, figuring he'd react pretty much exactly as he just had. "They were on clearance," she said, shrugging innocently. Not that she'd planned on still being there to see that reaction. She watched him dump out the second bag onto the bed, trying to run a mental list in her head of what she'd bought as he started pawing through the items. Razors, toothpaste, snacks, drinks, deodorant, and... oh.

She cringed inwardly as he held up two packs of men's underwear - one boxers, one boxer briefs - with a tauntingly raised eyebrow.

Lucy felt her cheeks grow hot. It had been odd enough to _buy_ them for him, never mind be sitting there when he stumbled across them in the bag. "I didn't know what you'd want," she mumbled shyly.

Thankfully, he shoved them, along with everything else, back into the bags and turned to her, grateful. "Luce, I really do appreciate all this. Thank you."

She brushed off the thanks with a shrug, "No big deal."

Lucy decided it was the military in him that had him spending the next few minutes putting away and arranging the things she'd brought. Clothes folded and into the drawer under the TV, drinks lined up on the tiny stand with the ice bucket, toiletries to the bathroom. It was so bizarre, this almost normal scene from 2017. The three of them had spent so much time together in close proximity, but never _now_. Always in the past, in silly costumes and playing roles, always something to figure out. Now, sitting in a small hotel room, faced with the prospect of sharing a bed (again) with Wyatt, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.

She was jarred from her thoughts by Wyatt's sudden declaration of, "I'm gonna do it." Looking up, she could see him eyeing the polar bear pants as if they were an enemy to be taken out. She felt herself smile as he grabbed the offending pants, among other things, and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

So now her co-worker was probably getting naked a mere ten feet away. Lucy jumped up, snagging the TV's remote control and flicking it on, just have some sort of distraction to push _that_ mental image from her brain.

It must have worked well enough, given that he was back before she knew it, catching her mid-yawn as exhaustion from the past few days started to hit hard. She took in his new outfit, the polar bear pants paired with a dark t-shirt, wet hair, and bare feet. The weirdness of their casual proximity now that they were in the present was creeping back in...

Lucy shifted her gaze back to the TV, forcing herself to focus on whatever random movie she'd landed on, even as she stifled another yawn.

And then a pile of clothes landed next to her.

She looked up, surprised.

"Wear that," Wyatt said, nodding in the direction of what she could now see was a t-shirt and a pair of the boxers from the pack he'd held up earlier. "You're tired. You don't have to sleep in your clothes."

Debating the supreme weirdness of wearing _underwear_ that she'd bought for Wyatt versus sleeping in skinny jeans, Lucy eventually went with physical comfort over mental. Grabbing the clothes and the toothbrush he'd tossed her earlier, she slipped past Wyatt into the bathroom.

She changed quickly and gave her face a scrub, grateful that when faced with the prospect of choosing products for Wyatt, she'd gone with her own preferred brands. There was a half second of panic when, while brushing her teeth, she caught sight of the opened pack of razors, before she reminded herself she'd just shaved her legs when she'd showered at her mother's earlier. Not that it mattered...

Eventually she had no reason to remain in the bathroom any longer, so she rolled up the clothes she'd removed and stepped back out into the main room. Wyatt had turned off the lights, save for the small lamps next to the bed, and had slid between the covers, sitting up against the headboard, still watching whatever it was Lucy had found on TV.

Lucy placed her bundle of clothes on the small nightstand and tentatively climbed into the bed next to him. Feeling a little weird at the thought of just lying down and going to sleep - it's not like they'd actually slept in the bed in Arkansas, waiting for Bonnie and Clyde to pass out - while he sat there, she mimicked his posture against headboard, fixing her gaze on the TV again. But sleep was winning out, and before long, she felt herself slumping over towards him. It wouldn't be that weird if she put her head on his shoulder, right?

Next thing she knew, she startled awake. The lights by the bed were still on, but the TV was off. And Wyatt... Wyatt was a hell of a lot closer than he had been before, and... She wasn't just leaning on his shoulder; he'd angled himself towards her, his arm was around her back, and she'd apparently had her face smushed against his chest. Lucy squinted in confusion and embarrassment, still feeling half-asleep, murmuring, "Sorry, tired, I guess," as she moved to slide away and put space between them again.

But Wyatt held her there, his arm gently unyielding. "'S'ok," he said softly, "Quieter this time, no Bonnie and Clyde."

Lucy gave a smile, agreeing "True" while still trying to catch her sleepy brain up to whatever was happening.

She heard Wyatt clear his throat, and could make him out, looking at her rather intensely in the dimmed light. "...what you said then," he started hesitantly, "about possibilities?"

She blinked at him, still not quite following, "Hmm?"

"You were right," he conceded, though to what she didn't know. "I need to be... open," he elaborated softly, "to possibilities like you."

Oh, _that_. "Well," Lucy scoffed, rolling her eyes, "considering I think I still have a fiance I don't even know and everything else is a mess in my life, yeah, I pretty much have to be wide open to new possibilities."

But Wyatt shook his head at her response.

Lucy frowned, confused.

"Not stay _open_ like you _do,_ Luce," he stressed. _"Possibilities_ like you _are._ "

Oh. _Oh._ Flummoxed at his implication, a shaky "Wyatt..." was all Lucy could manage before he slid his hand up to cradle her jaw, pressing his lips to hers gently.

Lucy's eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. Her pulse raced, and it took a few beats for her to truly register what was happening. The butterflies in her stomach were out in full force, and while her brain was a little worried, her heart let her indulge. She pressed back, giving herself to the kiss, her hand sliding up to his chest to clutch at a handful of t-shirt.

Eventually, sweet turned a little more sultry, with Wyatt's other hand dancing along the bare skin of her waist under the hem of her shirt, and his mouth coaxing her lips apart. She couldn't help but oblige, letting out a soft moan as their tongues finally met.

That little noise, even coming from herself, was enough to jar her back to reality. Reluctantly, she pulled back, flattening her hand to press his chest away. "Wyatt..." she chided softly, breathless. "You just got arrested for stealing a time machine to save your _wife._ "

He pulled back, leaning once again on the headboard, leaving Lucy's hand to slide down off his chest. His head lolled back, eyes closed as he wore an anguished expression. "I-" he sighed. "I know..."

Lucy bit her lip, hating the sight of him upset. Lifting her hand to his face, she coaxed him into looking at her. "This?" she said quietly, "You're just not there yet..."

With a deep sigh of acquiescence, he nodded against her hand, admitting, "Yeah..." But after another moment of contemplative silence, he fixed his intense gaze on her. "Are you? There?" he asked solemnly. "Here?"

Lucy sucked in a sharp breath at his directness, and her hand slipped nervously from his face. She opened her mouth to deflect the implication, but she stopped herself. What did she have to lose by being honest? She gave a tiny nod of confirmation, whispering, "Since Arkansas. Maybe before."

Wyatt let out another big sigh, sounding overwhelmed as he ran his hands over his face.

Lucy twisted her fingers together in her lap, not sure what else to do or say, only to feel Wyatt still her, reaching to hold one of her hands, stroking it with his thumb. "So now what?" he wondered aloud.

A strangled laugh escaped from Lucy. "...we stop Rittenhouse," she answered honestly. "Stop Flynn. Annoy Rufus. Also, you're a fugitive," she nudged him with her elbow. "We should deal with that."

It earned a trademark smirk from Wyatt.

More soberly, Lucy continued, "...and you... take time. ...to process..." She punctuated it with a helpless shrug. It's all that could happen, right? Exhilarating as it was to learn that those butterflies she'd been suppressing were there for him too, it just couldn't happen yet. _They_ couldn't happen yet.

Wyatt nodded, silently agreeing with her assessment as he continued to stroke her hand. "...wish that stupid machine let us jump forward," he added, muttering under his breath.

Lucy shook her head sternly, turning her hand over to give his a squeeze. "No, Wyatt, if you're serious about putting this behind you," she reminded him. "The murder, the killer, the bringing her back - you need to really deal with that. You can't skip that part."

He squeezed her hand back, admitting. "Yeah, I know."

They just sat there quietly for a while, both lost in thought. For Lucy, it was a bittersweet turn for the night to have taken. Her body was still electrified, even from a simple, mostly innocent kiss. At the most basic of levels, the prospect of a new relationship was such a rush; she couldn't deny it. But not even a few days ago, her heart had ached for a broken Wyatt crying out for his still-dead wife. She knew she couldn't compare to Jessica as things stood now. He needed to truly grieve, something he probably hadn't really done in the five years since her death. Which, as much as Lucy knew he needed it, still sucked.

In spite of the heightened emotions in the room, lack of sleep still weighed heavily on Lucy, and she felt her eyelids grow heavy again. "Wyatt-" was all she needed to get out before he caught on. He reached to flick off the lamp on his side of the bed, nodding in the direction of the one in hers as he tugged on the blankets and rearranged the pillows.

Lucy stretched to flip the switch on the light. Darkness filling the room, she knew she could, and probably _should_ , have stayed properly toward the edge of the bed, keeping the boundaries as unblurred as possible. But by unspoken agreement, they immediately gravitated toward each other in the dark, Wyatt cradling her against him as she curled up next to him, her head on his chest.

"Luce," came his voice through the darkness, "I- I think a part of me will always love Jess-"

"I know," Lucy interjected. "I would never expect anything else."

He continued, "-but I don't want you to ever think you're just a rebound or a replacement for her. You..." His voiced caught, cracking. "I care about you, Lucy," he finally got out in a whisper. "I _will_ get there."

Butterflies. Lucy smiled to herself. "I'll be here," she promised.

 **~FIN~**


End file.
